


Terms of Endearment

by littleladyyoda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forced Proximity, Friends to Lovers, Gonna get hot in here, Language Kink, Protective Bucky Barnes, Russian Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, bathroom friskiness, smut smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleladyyoda/pseuds/littleladyyoda
Summary: You stare up at him, the realization that he would die to protect you suddenly dawning on you in a very real sense.“Thank you,” you say, softly, not knowing what else is appropriate in this moment.“You’re welcome, lyubov moya.”James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 346





	1. Chapter 1

You’ve been under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection for three years and Bucky Barnes has been your bodyguard for two of those years. He drives you crazy and makes you smile in equal measure. You had been warned before he started his protection detail that you’d be dealing with an assassin -- a hardened man who didn’t hesitate to kill. If anything, you were reassured by the fact that you’d be getting someone who could keep you safe. But nothing could have prepared you for him.

Your first meeting is in a conference room with Fury making the introductions. Bucky has a quiet confidence and capability that makes you feel secure before he’s even opened his mouth to speak. His steely blue eyes appraise you as you stick out a hand to shake his. You try hard not to notice the way his long brown hair frames his face and the way his beard accentuates his near-perfect bone structure. You push this thought out of your head at the earliest opportunity.

It doesn’t take long before you realize that, unlike your previous bodyguards, Bucky isn’t going to go out of his way to acquiesce to your preferences. He’s going to keep you safe, even if that means irritating you to no end.

You sweep out of the conference room, all business, ready to get on with the day, and Bucky is glued to you. He’s annoyingly close to you the rest of the day, too, staying only a few paces behind you. You’re used to your guards keeping a discreet distance.

“Do you mind?” you ask, trying hard to keep the irritation out of your voice.

He silently raises an eyebrow.

“You can be a few feet away. No one’s going to come out of the shadows and tackle me to the ground.”

“And how do you know that?”

It’s only the second time he’s spoken to you and his voice is raspy from what you can only assume is disuse. 

“I don’t, but…”

“Let’s get one thing straight, doll. I’m not here to make you happy. I’m here to keep you alive.”

He’s staring you down, the directness of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. 

You nod and go about the business of trying to ignore him.

It’s exactly two weeks before you see anything resembling a smile cross his face.

It’s a stupid thing, really. 

You’ve been trying to get in shape and that means some half-hearted trips to the gym in the S.H.I.E.L.D. basement. You’re always hyper aware of Bucky’s presence in these situations, even though he generally keeps quiet and out of your way. 

You decide to experiment with the punching bag. 

You’re two minutes in before you feel a presence at your back. 

Turning, you realize that Bucky has quietly come up behind you.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to, whether I want you to or not,” you say.

“Don’t tuck your thumb. It’s going to get broken the first time you actually punch a person.”

“Isn’t it your job to make sure I never have to do that?”

“You can never be too careful, doll.

You make a fist the way he suggests and realize that it is much more comfortable.

“Any more thoughts?” you ask.

“Try to build up your stamina. Hand to hand is all about tiring out your opponent.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

He nods, a small smile flitting across his face, before he retreats to his corner to continue his silent vigil.

Things change between you after that. It’s imperceptible at first, but within weeks you find yourself having longer conversations with him. You come to enjoy his constant presence and the way he’s always honest with you. You’re particularly pleased when you can coax a smile from those beautiful lips. It’s rare, but it lights up your world when it happens.

The thing that really cements your partnership is the bomb scare. It ends up being a false alarm, but no one knows that at the time. 

You’re on your way out of the building, Bucky at your heels, when you hear the shout of “bomb!” from the security desk.

Without hesitation, Bucky pulls you to the ground, shielding you with his body. If you weren’t scared shitless, you would have enjoyed the feeling of his body on yours.

It becomes clear within a few moments that the security guard was mistaken. 

Bucky stands and offers you his hand.

You stare up at him, the realization that he would die to protect you suddenly dawning on you in a very real sense.

“Thank you,” you say, softly, not knowing what else is appropriate in this moment.

“You’re welcome, lyubov moya.”

It’s only the second or third time you’ve heard him speak Russian, but something about how it makes his already-deep voice even lower sends sparks to your core.  
And while you have to assume that his nickname for you is something semi-insulting like “my annoying little friend” or “short stuff,” it pleases you nonetheless.

He calls you that at least once every day for the next two years. Sometimes it’s when he’s frustrated with you and you’re snapping at each other over something stupid. Sometimes it’s when you make him laugh. And sometimes it’s when you’re not expecting it at all. Without fail, it brings a smile to your face and butterflies to your stomach. It never occurs to you to ask what it means. 

You’re lulled into a false sense of security, the last assassination attempt having happened four years before. It seems that perhaps they’ve given up. You are so very, very wrong on this score.

The shooter somehow manages to make his way into the building, which probably gets someone fired.

He’s mere feet from you before he pulls out the gun.

Bucky’s in front of you before he can get off the shot. He gets grazed in the shoulder, but manages to take the assailant down anyway. You’ve never seen him in action before and you have a vague awareness of his history, but nothing prepares you for seeing him turn his whole body into a weapon. He’s utterly controlled and completely focused. It’s fascinating and frightening at the same time. He’s a killing machine. You’re not entirely sure if it’s this or the adrenaline that is making you feel so alive.

When the assailant is finally lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the shock finally kicks in and you nearly collapse. Bucky catches you as your knees buckle, in spite of his bleeding shoulder.

“You should get that checked out,” you say, weakly. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, lyubov moya.” His lips are close to your ear and the reassuring rumble calms you.

Within minutes you’re being spirited away to a secure location and Bucky’s on his way to the medical wing. 

Somehow, during all the commotion and the debrief that follows, all you can think about is him. And that’s all you think about over the next few days. 

Bucky’s back on the job within two days, resuming his protective presence in your life. 

But again things have changed. 

You feel naked without him now. He doesn’t stay with you at night, having his own room to return to within the facility and, presumably, sleep to catch up on. But you often find yourself wondering what it would be like to have him be with you after 5:00.

You realize your feelings are deepening and how very, very inconvenient and foolish this is.

But you can’t help imagining his deep voice in your ear when you’re touching yourself in the shower or imagining his arms wrapped around you as you drift off to sleep. You push these thoughts away when morning comes and he meets you outside your door, but they catch up with you every night without fail.

Things reach a breaking point when you find yourself in yet another meeting. This time, it’s scientists. It isn’t particularly interesting or pivotal subject matter, but becomes a demarcation point in your life nonetheless.

As you’re packing up to leave, you strike up a conversation with a Russian scientist. It occurs to you that this might be your one chance to satisfy your curiosity about Bucky’s nickname for you.

“Can you tell me something? It’s a Russian phrase. I’m not sure what it means. My…friend…calls me this all the time and I’m just curious to see what it actually means.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Lyubov moya.”

The scientist gets a quizzical look on his face.

“A friend?” he asks. 

You assume this really means that something insulting is being said.

“I think it’s just a joke between us at this point,” you say, suddenly protective of Bucky.

“No, it’s not something funny,” he says, the look not leaving his face.

“What does it mean, then?”

He pauses and lowers his voice tactfully.

“It means ‘my love.’”

He turns to go, leaving you gripping the back of your chair, stunned.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re not quite sure what to do with this new information.

As you exit the conference room, Bucky falls into place behind you from his position outside the door. The feel of him at your back, as ever, makes you feel secure and safe. And now, something more.

You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for handling this so well and acting what you assume is naturally. But you’ve underestimated how well he knows you.

As you round the corner, he grabs you gently, but firmly, by the arm and navigates you to an alcove. He hands stay loosely on your elbows to keep you in place in front of him. You’re trying so very hard not to make eye contact, especially when those blue eyes make you have very unladylike feelings. He gently places a hand under your chin to force you to look up at him.

“What’s wrong, lyubov moya?” he asks, softly. 

Your brain freezes for what feels like five minutes, but most only be thirty seconds.

“Nothing!” you say, brightly, hoping it’s convincing.

“You’re shaking,” he says, his hands still lightly resting on your arms.

“It’s a little chilly.”

He’s studying you and you know he knows that’s not the case.

“Was it something that happened in the conference room?”

You shake your head, keeping what you hope is a convincing smile on your face.

“I’m fine, really.”

He peers down into your eyes, pinning you with his.

“I’m just trying to figure out if I need to kill someone.”

He’s clearly joking, but his voice holds an edge of steel.

“Nope! Just cold and a little tired. I think I’m going to pack it in and call it a night. It’s already 4:00.”

You’re aware that you’re rambling, but you know that this is virtually the only thing keeping you from throwing yourself into his arms right then and there.

Bucky nods and you walk back into the hallway.

He drops you off at room and you slide down the closed door, sitting on the floor with a thump.

“Get a grip, Y/N,” you say to yourself, firmly.

You spend the rest of the evening telling yourself that he’s using the phrase in an ironic sense and firmly push away all memories that don’t fit that hypothesis, which is most of them. 

You firmly fix your mind on this idea, but, once you get into bed, you let your mind wander to a reality in which he wasn’t joking.

You know him so well at this point that you can imagine his scent filling your nostrils. You bite down on your lip as your hand slowly wanders down under the covers. You can imagine him murmuring things in your ear and his hands against your body. It doesn’t take very long before you’re climaxing, light flashing behind your eyes. You’re aware that you’re whimpering his name. And even more aware that you’re in real trouble now. 

You don’t sleep well that night and end up trying to cover the dark circles under your eyes with concealer, hoping he doesn’t notice. Yet again, your hopes are dashed. 

He’s gruff with you all day, his sentences short and clipped. 

Finally, exasperated, you turn to him, putting your hands on your hips.

“What the hell is your problem today, Bucky? You’ve been a piss pot literally all day.”

He locks eyes with you.

“My problem is that you aren’t letting me do my job.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He sighs.

“I’m talking about yesterday, when you were having a melt down in the hallway. I’m talking about how you haven’t been sleeping. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what the threat is. And not being able to protect you…”

He trails off.

You have to push down a smile. His protectiveness warms you down to your toes.

“Is it some guy?” he asks. “And, if so, I’m wondering why I haven’t met him? He could be a terrorist for all we know.”

“I’m reasonably sure not,” you murmur under your breath.

He glares at you.

“No, Bucky, it’s not a guy.”

You know he knows you’re lying, but he lets it go anyway. 

You’re pretty sure the subject has dropped until he drops you off at your door.

Usually he leaves you with a short “good night,” making sure you close your door before he walks down the hallway.

Tonight he grabs you by the wrist, gently, as you turn to unlock the door.

Startled, you turn toward him quickly and end up pressed up against him, your hands resting against his pectoral muscles.

He leans down and his lips nearly brush your ear.

“Get some sleep, lyubov moya,” he says. You close your eyes at the feeling of his breath against your skin. “I don’t want to see you tired tomorrow.”

You nod, breathlessly.

You’re halfway desperate to tell him the truth. That it’s only him you dream about anymore, that the thought of his eyes and his voice and his capable hands keep you sweat soaked and unable to sleep peacefully. That all you want is to feel his beard rasping over every inch of your skin. That you want him inside you worse than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

Instead, you swallow hard, pulling away.

“Sweet dreams, Bucky.”

And you flee into the safety of your room. 

You end up spending the rest of the night eating ramen and watching Russian-language videos on YouTube. You tell yourself it’s because you interact with people from dozens of countries and it might be advantageous to be able to understand them better. All lies. Because what you want, desperately and completely, is for him to growl it in your ear. The thought makes you wet and weak at the knees. 

Oh yes, you’re in so much trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

You are, again, tired the next day.

You know that Bucky can sense this, but he keeps his thoughts to himself until it’s time to part ways for the night.

You’re unlocking the door when you feel his presence at your shoulder.

“What’s up?” you say, softly, turning to look at him.

“I’m just wondering what’s for dinner,” he says.

It’s a question he’s never asked you before, but you go with it anyway.

“Ramen. That’s what’s for dinner most nights.”

He rolls his eyes.

“No wonder you look like shit, lyubov moya, if that’s all you’re eating.”

“I’ll have you know that ramen is both nutritious and delicious.”

He shakes his head, a smile breaking across his handsome face.

“Not tonight.”

“No?”

You’ve managed to get the door unlocked at this point and, instead of walking away, he holds the door for you, following you inside.

“I’m staying with you tonight,” he says, decisively.

“And may I ask why?”

You try to keep your voice light and breezy with just a tinge of sarcasm, hoping to fall back into your usual rhythm.

“Because, krasavitsa, I need to make sure you get some rest.”

It’s the first time he’s used this new nickname for you and you resolve to look it up at the first possible opportunity.

You can think of a million ways he could help you rest, but you know that none of them are even remotely appropriate. You shrug in what you hope is a casual manner and drop your bag by the door.

“Well, then, welcome to my little corner of the world. I’m going to go and get changed real quick and then we’ll figure out this dinner business.”

Bucky nods.

After you’ve changed into what you hope is a reasonably attractive outfit of leggings, tank top, and long, cozy cardigan, you wander out into the living room. He’s seated himself on the couch, which is, in and of itself, surreal to you. You’ve never seen him in this setting. And, damn, could you get used to it.

He’s shed his jacket, tactical vest, and most of the armored components of his outfit, so he’s wearing a short-sleeved black shirt and black pants. His metal arm gleams under the living room lights. 

It’s all you can do not to tackle him into the couch.

“So, dinner? I have a bunch of takeout menus. What sounds good: Chinese, Thai, Italian, pizza?”

He sighs in exasperation.

“You need actual food.”

“Well, I don’t cook, so…”

He stands up and passes you, heading towards the kitchen.

“Well, it’s good for you that I do, then.”

You weren’t sure it was possible for him to divulge any additional information that could make him any more perfect. You were clearly wrong.

You get out your laptop as you hear him banging around the kitchen. You take the opportunity to Google Translate “krasavitsa” and bite back a smile when you see that it means “beautiful.” Butterflies fill your belly, but you remind yourself that, at worst, he’s making fun of you and, at best, he’s an outrageous flirt and says this to all the ladies.

You resolve to enjoy it for what it is and wander into the kitchen.

There’s a pot of boiling pasta on the stove and Bucky’s in the middle of chopping veggies.

“Can I help?” you ask.

“And risk having you mutilate something or cut your hand off?”

“Well, I’m not sure that that’s entirely accurate,” you start to sputter in indignation.

He looks up at you, a small smile crossing his lips, and you can’t help but smile back.

It’s about ten minutes before he plates the pasta, and you hang out in the kitchen with him, chatting about the mundane details of life at S.H.I.E.L.D.

After he hands you the plate and you take the first bite that you make a sound that can only be described as orgasmic.

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment, lyubov moya.”

“Oh yes,” you nod furiously. “I haven’t had dinner like this in a long time.”

You insist on washing the dishes. It’s the least you can do, after he’s cooked for you. You’re standing at the sink, elbow-deep in soapy water, debating the relative merits of 1940s music versus 2019 music.

“It just seems like dancing is a lot easier these days. Back then, you had to have some moves. Now you can just kind of bump and grind and it covers a multitude of sins. You don’t really need to know how to dance, per say.”

“Bump and grind?” Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“You know…” You move your hips as much as you can with soap dripping off you.

Bucky chuckles, the sound deep in his chest. You’ve just washed and dried your hands when you feel his hands on your waist.

He gently spins you around and your breath catches in your throat.

“You know,” he says, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I was a pretty good dancer back in my day.”

“Oh, really? Then show me some moves, grandpa.”

He makes a face at you and gently spins you into his arms. You squeal in surprise, but you’re loving every minute of it.

He dips you and spins you until you’re laughing with delight, your head thrown back.

Finally, he gently pulls away from you and your body screams out at being separated from him.

“You look tired, lyubov moya,” he says.

“I am, a little.”

“Then time for bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want to hear anything but you snoring. No internet, no phone, no TV. Just get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, giving him a mock salute.

You drift off quickly, secure in the knowledge that he’s only one room away. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

A few weeks later, Bucky gets sent on a mission. You don’t get to say goodbye – there’s just a new, nameless security person at your door one morning with orders from Fury to watch you until Bucky returns.

He’s gone almost two weeks and you go a little crazy. 

The nameless soldier who replaced Bucky is boring as hell and keeps his distance, which is fine with you. 

You start eating ramen again. And watching Russian videos. And showering only every other day. And worrying every waking second that he’s hurt or worse. 

You think you might well and truly lose your mind, until you hear a knock at the door one evening.

You figure it’s probably Natasha or Steve coming to check in on you, so you freeze when you look through the peephole and see him standing there.

He looks haggard and exhausted. You realize from the state of him that he didn’t even go shower or change. He came straight to you. 

You wrench the door open and throw your arms around his neck, trying to be gentle.

“I worried every day.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think.

He laughs into the curve of your neck.

“Still in one piece, doll.”

You breathe in his scent and savor the feeling of his arms around you before you pull away.

“I know you can’t tell me anything.”

He shakes his head ruefully.

“But you’re okay?” Your eyes search his face.

“I’m okay,” he says.

“Well, I’m glad to have you back. It wasn’t the same without you.”

You try to regain some of your dignity and distance, but it feels impossible now.

He gently tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

It’s a rare display of physical affection from him and you try not to smile.

“Do you want dinner?”

He nods and you gently lead him inside.

You take the opportunity to wash his clothes while he’s in the shower and you try hard not to stare when he comes out wrapped in only a towel. He’s every bit as beautiful as you had imagined and you want nothing more than to run your fingertips over his abs and trace the veins in his arms with your tongue.

You turn around tactfully as he slips his clothes on, wandering into the kitchen.

He settles himself at the kitchen island as you put on the water for ramen.

“I wish I had something better for dinner,” you say, apologetically.

“Don’t worry. Anything is fine with me.”

You smile at him and turn back to the boiling water.

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble while I was gone. The temporary security guy was good?”

“Yeah,” you say, absently, stirring the water. “We didn’t talk much, but I didn’t die, so…”

“Not everyone can have my wit and sparkling personality, doll.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he smirks at you, sending shivers down to your tip toes.

“Can you at least tell me which country it was?” 

“I can’t.”

“Let me guess: you’ve been sworn to secrecy under pain of death by Fury to not tell anyone anything.”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to tell you because I don’t want it following me back here, back to you,” he says, pain clouding his features.

“Bucky, I’m sorry… forget I said anything.”

He looks down at his hands, a lock of hair falling into his face, and you resist the urge to cross the kitchen and crawl straight into his lap.

“It’s okay. I know you were just worried.”

“Every goddamn day,” you say, trying and failing to keep your voice light.

“I worried about you, too, you know,” he says, his voice husky. “I was worried that fucker couldn’t keep you as safe as I can. I knew he couldn’t. I was worried every single day that I’d come back and you’d be…”

“Funny, I was sure you’d be relieved to take a vacation from me for a couple week,” you say, teasingly, desperate to avoid giving away your feelings.

Bucky gets up from his chair, slowly. Your heart leaps into your throat as he walks across the room to you. He gently takes the wooden spoon from your hand, placing it on the counter, and reaches behind you, turning the burner off.

He gently leans down and presses his forehead against yours.

“God, doll,” he murmurs. “I only thought about you every single fucking day. About how good you smell and your smart mouth and the way you say my name. And how it would feel like heaven to have you riding me all night long.”

The words burn down your spine and the breath catches in your throat.

“I’ve been afraid I’ll wear out my cock from jacking off to you every night,” he continues.

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me then,” you say, your voice weaker than your knees. “I’ve been wearing out my vibrator for months now.”

In what must be the poorest timing ever, you hear another knock on the door.

You stand locked together for another moment or two before the pounding becomes more insistent.

Regretfully, you pull away from him and make your way to the door. 

There was literally no one you wanted to see at your door in that moment, least of all Nick Fury.

“I’m here for Mr. Barnes,” he says without preamble.

Your heart sinks.

Bucky exits the kitchen. He’s all business now, ready to take orders.

“Mr. Barnes. Regretfully, I’m going to have to ask you to go back out in the field, effective immediately. It seems the asset wasn’t as secure as we think.”

You’re aware he’s talking in code for your benefit, but you’re too alarmed to be bothered by it.

“Can’t you send someone else?”

Fury pins you with his trademark stare. He isn’t having any of it. 

“Did I stutter, Y/N?”

You open your mouth to protest, but Bucky replies before you can say anything.

“I’m ready to comply,” he says.

Fury nods decisively.

“Be ready in fifteen minutes. Usual protocols.”

He’s out the door before you can say anything else.

You turn to Bucky, dismayed.

“I can’t believe it. Oh my God. You’ve been back all of ten minutes and now he wants you to go back out there and anything could happen and I’m going to be out of fucking mind worrying about you every single moment of every singl---“

“It’s important, if he’s sending me back out,” Bucky says. 

“That’s what I’m worried about!” you snap, throwing up your hands.

“I’m coming back, lyubov moya,” he says, softly.

“You better,” you hiss at him.

Bucky glances at the clock.

“I have to go. I need to pick up some things from my room before I leave.”

You nod, numb, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“No kiss goodbye?” he asks, a small smile spreading across his face. “I feel pretty cheated right now, if I’m being honest.”

You look up at him, unable to keep the worry off your face.

“Come back to me, Bucky. If you want a kiss, then come back to me in one piece. If you do something stupid and get yourself killed…”

He smiles, more broadly this time.

“I’ll come back, lyubov moya. I promise.”

You nod again, holding back tears.

Bucky pauses with his hand on the doorknob. 

“Dasvidaniya, lyubov moya.”

You wait until you hear his retreating footsteps before you sink to the floor, tears flooding your eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The waiting is the hardest, but you’d wait forever for Bucky if you had to.

Days turn into weeks turn into a month. You’re going out of your mind.

You try to tell yourself that he could come back at any minute. You dream about him every night and you think about him constantly. Natasha tries to be comforting, but she’s realistic about the risks.

You’re deep in the process of doing laundry when you hear a knock at the door. Your heart leaps into your throat and your stomach does a flip-flop. You steady yourself against the washing machine and check your reflection in the mirror. You wish fervently that you were wearing something cuter than jeans and a ratty t-shirt, but it will have to do for now. 

You practically skip to the door and throw it open.

Normally you’d be happy to see Steve, but your heart sinks when you see the look on his face.

You point a finger at him as he starts to open his mouth.

“No. No, no, no. No, Steve. Don’t say it.”

He shakes his head.

“Y/N…”

“No. Goddammit, no!”

The prospect of complete and total loss floods your body with panic and your pleas turn to sobs as you cover your mouth and turn away from him.

Steve gently catches you as you start to sink to the ground, sobbing.

He’s murmuring softly, things like “hardest thing I’ve ever had to do” and “died a hero” and “saved ten lives,” but you can’t process any of it.

Natasha stays with you that night at Steve’s request. You’re nearly catatonic with grief and you could care less if the whole of the Avengers stayed in your apartment all night long. Bucky is gone. You’d sent him away without a kiss. You’d sent him away without telling him how you feel. 

Nat makes you food and pours you glasses of wine and holds your hand while you sob.

Steve stops in throughout the next week when he can and Sam brings you your favorite cupcakes in an effort to get you to eat. Tony sends flowers. None of it registers with you.

One night, you’re watching yet another Netflix cooking show with Natasha. It feels like it has been both two hours and two years since Bucky’s death. You’re so exhausted, but it hurts too much to sleep.

“Nat?”

She starts at the sound of your voice. She’s used to you being silent for hours at a time.

“Are you okay, hon?”

You sniff and wipe your nose with the back of your hand.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She hesitates, licking her lips. 

“Yes,” she says, after a moment.

“And what happened?”

“He died,” she said, simply, pain clouding her eyes.

You nod, looking down at your hands.

“Then you know,” you say.

“Yes,” she says, leaning over to pat your knee. “I know.”

You sit in silence for a moment.

“Nat?”

“Yes?”

“How do you say ‘I love you’ in Russian?”

She looks at you sadly, her eyes filled with understanding.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

You softly echo the phrase, fighting the urge to double over with the weight of your grief. 

.


	6. Chapter 6

The next two months are hell on earth.

Thank God for Steve, Natasha, and Sam. They come to visit regularly, sitting with you in silence when you need it and offering words of comfort when you’re up to hearing them. 

Even Tony comes to see you a few times, which would be touching if you were in a position to feel any emotions at all.

Sam keeps encouraging you to exercise, so, from time to time, he’ll dismiss your security detail and take you out for a walk in the evening. 

You’re on one of these excursions, hands shoved into the pocket of your cardigan, when Sam leads you over to a bench.

“You know, Y/N, I’ve done this more than a couple times.”

You look at him and he continues.

“I’ve buried friends. Lots of friends. Good men and women. I miss them every day. I’ve buried people under my command, people that I was responsible for. It doesn’t get any easier.”

He looks down at his hands and you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Some things you don’t get over, Y/N. You just carry them with you.”

You close your eyes.

“And what if they’re too heavy to carry? What if they hurt too much?”

Sam reaches over and squeezes your hand.

“He loved you because you’re stronger than that.”

You choke back tears and squeeze his hand back. 

“He was a little shit,” Sam adds. “But he was our little shit.”

You laugh in spite of yourself.

“Thank you, Sam,” you say, after you’ve discreetly wiped your eyes on your sleeve. “You’re a good friend.”

It gradually becomes more bearable to do little things. You remind yourself that Bucky would want you to eat and get sleep, so you do both those things, pushing down the pain of remembering his hands on your waist and his voice in your ear. 

You strike up a pleasant enough working relationship with Peter Parker, the young man who’s been tasked with being your new security. Fury explains that they need to give the kid, who looks all of twelve, a fairly easy summer job. Seeing that the attempts on your life have seemingly stopped, you seemed like a good option. You suspect that Fury knew you two would be good for each other. You find Peter to be charmingly awkward. He makes you laugh like a silly younger brother. He talks a lot and you’re happy to let him, listening to him ramble about the college he’ll be attending in the fall and the girl he has a crush on. He’s a good kid and you know he’s doing the very best he can. You try to give him good sisterly advice and ignore the pain in your chest that rises whenever you remember how safe Bucky made you feel.

By the time autumn arrives and you need to say goodbye to Peter, you’re in slightly better spirits. The kid gives you a big hug on his last day, thanking you for the experience. You fight back tears. Saying goodbye is harder these days than it ever was.

Steve, Natasha, and Sam take over security duties on a rotating basis until a permanent replacement can be found. You start to find yourself laughing again, at least when you’re out in public.

But when you return to your room, you become the same mopey mess you’ve been for almost six months.

One day, Natasha sits you down.

“Y/N, it’s time,” she says, firmly.

“Time for what?”

“We’re your friends, we love you, we’ve all agreed: you need to start getting out more. I have the perfect guy. He’s nice, inoffensive, has a good job. He’ll show you a nice time. You can have dinner, maybe see a movie.”

You love Nat, but you have to bite back the urge to snap at her. You don’t want nice and inoffensive. Maybe that was what you wanted once. But you know now that no one could ever possibly measure up to the one man you’ll never stop loving.

“I love you, Nat, but you know I’m not ready yet. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“That’s the thing, Y/N, you have to push yourself a little bit. We all know how much Bucky’s death threw you off your axis. But now it’s time to get on with the business of living. I miss him. Steve misses him like crazy. Sam does, too, even though he would never admit it. But we need to make sure we’re moving forward, too.”

You nod, sniffing back the tears that threaten to overrun your eyes.

“This blind date guy may not be the love of your life. But he doesn’t need to be. He just needs to be good for you. And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll just find someone else.”

You know Nat is trying, so you agree to the date.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be full-on smut in the next chapter, I promise.

The blind date is every bit as boring as you had expected. It’s hard under the best of circumstances to have a good date when you have a security detail trailing you at twenty paces, but you knew when you saw him across the restaurant that it was a no.

He’s the kind of guy you would have found good-looking once, what seems like a lifetime ago and he seems nice enough, even if he does talk a lot about his Tuesday volleyball league.

But, as you study his face, you can’t help but picture long brown hair falling into beautiful blue eyes. You imagine running your hands over the most beautiful jawline you’ve ever seen and strong arms holding you gently. You fight back tears, trying not to cry into the appetizer.

“…and so that’s how I got to a 15 golf handicap.”

He smiles at you brightly and then notices the look on your face.

“Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” you reassure him. “I lost someone very dear to me this past year. Sometimes it can be hard…”

He reaches across the table to try and grab your hand, and you tactfully pull away.

You can tell that he’s a little dismayed. He was probably expecting a fun date and instead he got a weepy mess.

“And this person – they left, or….?”

You shake your head.

“He died.”

Kudos to your date for trying to salvage the wreckage of the evening. He takes you to a movie, and for drinks afterward. You try your best, really you do.

You laugh at his jokes and even let him place his hand lightly in the small of your back as you sit at the bar. 

You’ve just finished your second drink when your date excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You vaguely sense someone slide onto the stool beside you, and you hope it isn’t some creep who is going to try to hit on you.

“I’m surprised that anyone would leave a girl as pretty as you sitting all by yourself, doll.”

You freeze at the voice, so deep and rough and familiar.

A million thoughts run through your head, but you don’t trust yourself to look up. It’s some hallucination. It must be. Just a guy out for a drink who has a similar voice. But you know. You know because you feel truly safe for the first time in eight months. 

You swallow, hard, not trusting yourself to speak. You’re pretty sure you’re going into shock.

His lips brush your ear and you have to close your eyes at the sensation. It feels so damn good.

“Say something, lyubov moya.”

You open your mouth to speak and, with horrible timing, your date comes back from the bathroom.

“Stop touching her. Now.”

You have to hand it to the guy. He’s trying to protect your honor. You’re surprised he had it in him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He slides off the stool, towering over your date, toe to toe. Your date swallows, but stands his ground.

“Was this guy bothering you, Y/N?”

You finally manage to find your voice.

“No. No he wasn’t.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No.”

“But –“

“I think you should go,” Bucky says, his voice brooking no argument.

Your date looks to you for support and you nod your head.

He harrumphs in the back of his throat and grabs his coat, storming toward the door.

“Do you need help?” says a meek voice from behind you.

It’s one of the two guys from your security team.

“Took you long enough,” Bucky says, coldly.

The agent looks sheepish.

“I could haven taken her out any time in the last four hours and you would have been useless. Even the most ineffective assassin could have taken her out without thinking about it.”

“Well, I was trying to---“

Bucky holds up his hand, the metal flashing under the lights.

“I’ll be taking over from here.”

“But I have strict orders from Mr. Fury…”

“He’ll have to take it up with me personally then. Beat it.”

The agent’s eyes switch rapidly back and forth from Bucky’s face to his vibranium arm. Clearly, Bucky’s reputation has preceded him and the bodyguard skitters away, taking his partner with him.

As this exchange is happening, you have the opportunity to study Bucky. If anything, the last eight months have made him even more devastatingly handsome. His hair is a bit longer and his stubble has grown out into a full, but neatly trimmed beard. His blue eyes are the same as you remember and, more than anything, you want to make love to him right on the floor of the bar.

You take Bucky by the hand, throat dry, and lead him towards the back entrance of the bar. Before you reach the door, you gently pull him into the single use bathroom by the back hallway.

He smirks as you drop your purse and coat to the floor and push him up against the door, your lips crashing into his.

You’ve regained your voice and you hear yourself desperately murmuring phrases against his lips.

“Miss you so much…thought I was going to die in a world without you in it…fuck you for leaving me…”

Bucky’s hands are tangled in your hair and he cups your backside, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

You let out a growl and deepen your kiss, aware that you are very, very wet, and the only thing that can give you release is Bucky. 

You gently rock your hips against his, already close.

“Fuck, Bucky…”

He plants gentle kisses on the side of your neck and jaw.

You don’t want to cum, not without him inside of you, so you slowly let yourself slide to the ground and start fumbling with his fly.

He gently grabs your hand and leans his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want our first time to be here, lyubov moya,” Bucky says, softly. “I want you naked in my bed, the way I’ve imagined it a thousand times.”

It kills you to pull away, but you do.

You smooth a flyaway hair behind your ear and straighten your clothes.

You look up at him, your voice husky with lust.

“Well, then, you better get me home, soldier.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was my intention for there to be full-on smut in this chapter, but the story kind of goes where it wants to go and I'm just trying to keep up! Anyway, my apologies! There will be smut in the next update.

Successfully making your way to being blessedly alone proves to be a mission in and of itself. This becomes clear when you walk into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and you see Steve striding towards you. You spent most of the ten block Uber ride from the bar not being able to keep your hands off each other, such to the point that the driver asked you politely to cut it out. You look disheveled and wildly happy and all you want is Bucky and a bed and privacy. You love Steve, but you desperately wish he was somewhere – anywhere - else.

He stops in front of Bucky and you’re pretty sure you can see tears shining in his eyes. He pulls Bucky into a bear hug. They hold each other for probably fifteen seconds before Steve claps Bucky on the back and they pull apart.

“I thought you were dead, buddy,” Steve says.

“I did, too,” says Bucky. 

“Sam will want to see you. And Natasha. And Fury, of course. A million other people.”

Steve is smiling broadly and, normally, you would have the warm fuzzies, but your sexual frustration is building to the point that you think you might explode.

Bucky claps Steve on the shoulder.

“Can’t wait, buddy, but right now I need to have to spend some time with my best girl.”

Steve smiles knowingly. 

“Enjoy your night.”

You manage to make it to the hallway outside Bucky’s apartment when Fury rounds the corner.

Instinctively, you step in front of Bucky.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can’t make him go.”

Bucky gently grabs you by the hand, instantly calming you.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m not sending Mr. Barnes anywhere,” Fury says, pointedly looking at your joined hands.

“But you will need to come to my office for a debrief in the morning,” he says, directing this to Bucky.

He turns and calls out over his shoulder.

“9:00 sharp. Welcome back, soldier.”

He isn’t out of sight before Bucky has the apartment door unlocked.

You follow him inside and stop. You’ve lost whatever momentum you had twenty minutes before and are feeling almost shy. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asks, looking at you with concern.

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you well enough to know it’s not nothing, doll.”

“I just…I’m sorry. I haven’t asked you what happened. I’ve been throwing myself at you and ---“

Bucky cuts you off with a gentle kiss.

“Do I seem like I haven’t been enjoying myself, doll?”

You blush and bury your face in his chest.

“We have plenty of time to talk,” he says. “The only thing that got me through the last eight months was you. And right now I need you more than I need to talk.”

He’s kissing you then, his hands everywhere at once, running gently over every curve of your body, just like you’ve imagined it a million times.

You tangle your hands in his hair, trying to pull him as close as humanly possible.

“We better slow down, doll, or I’m going to have my way with you right on the floor,” he says, breathlessly, as he pulls back.

You stare up into his eyes, your words leaving your lips a bit more fiercely than you had imagined.

“You can have me wherever, whenever, Bucky Barnes. I’ve been yours since the minute we met. I’ve been yours every minute of every day since. And I’ll be yours for as long as you want me.”

These words do not have the intended effect.

It’s as though a curtain has been pulled across Bucky’s eyes. 

He pulls back, gently, but firmly.  


“You should leave now,” he says, and your heart sinks.

“I don’t understand,” you say, confused and devastated, aware that your world is crashing down around you. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Please…”

“No, you never do anything wrong,” he says, clearly frustrated.

“Not like that?”

He looks down at his hands, one of flesh and one of metal.

“I’m still a wanted man in about two dozen countries. I’ve done things… You deserve better than me. Than this. And I know it. But I’m selfish and I can’t… ”

He looks at your, pain etched across his face.

“Then you say things like that, doll, and I know that it isn’t fair to you to be tied down with a man like me.”

You cup his cheek in your palm.

“I don’t want anything better. Even if I could find it, which I can’t. I just want you, Bucky. I want everything that you are.”

“And even if I don’t know what I am? Sometimes I can’t decide if I’m a kid from Brooklyn or The Winter Soldier.”

“I think you’re both.”

He lowers his eyes to your face.

“And you can live with that?”

You wrack your brain at how to explain to him that you love both these sides to him. That you’re equally in love with James Buchanan Barnes and the man they call the Winter Soldier. And that you’ll love every permutation in between for the rest of your lives if he’ll let you.

In the end, you pull out the phrase that Natasha taught you.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

Your accent is atrocious and you’re self-conscious, but you can see the words land with the desired effect. 

You realize with sadness gripping your heart that he’s never heard words of love and affection in Russian before. Just orders and violence and pain.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his lips crashing into yours.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised ;)

In the end, you never actually make it to bed.

Somehow, you do make it to the couch, where you gently push Bucky down and straddle him, your hips moving against his slowly. It takes everything you have not to cum just from that alone.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he says, smirking up at you.

You make short work of your clothes and then start in on removing his, only stopping to kiss the scars you come across. 

He’s more beautiful naked than you ever could have imagined, all muscle and abs and biceps.

“Wow.”

“That bad, huh?” he teases.

“No. Not bad at all. Perfect. Gorgeous.”

“You’ll make me blush, doll,” he says, pulling you down to kiss him again.

You hoist yourself up and, eyes not leaving his, gently drop yourself down so he’s fully seated inside of you. He’s a perfect fit and it takes everything you have not to let out a very unladylike noise. You bite your lip to keep it in.

“No, doll,” he says. “I want to hear every sound you want to make for me.”

You stop moving, suddenly self-conscious.

“Bucky,” you hiss. “For a place so obsessed with security, this building has very thin walls, let me tell you.”

His eyes darken.

“And this is something you have previous experience with.”

You blush again.

“Well…”

He holds your hips still, steel blue eyes locked onto yours.

“Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart,” he says, deadly serious. “This is it for me. You’re it for me. But if we’re going to do this, I need to know this is it for you, too.”

You shake your head and stroke your fingers down his cheek.

“I’ve already forgotten everybody else, Bucky. There’s only you.”

He lets out a growl and gathers your ass in his hands, lifting you up and down on his cock, the perfect amount of force to hit your clit every time.

You’re holding onto his shoulders, forehead pressed against his, whimpering.

“No one else,” he says. “Say it.”

You’re nearly incoherent with pleasure, but you manage to find the words.

“No one else, Bucky. I’m yours.”

You’re close, each thrust sending you closer and closer to the edge.

In the end, it’s the look in his eyes – an irresistible combination of love and possessiveness – that sends you spiraling, clinging to him as you ride out your orgasm. You’re pretty sure you’re going to pass out and stars dance behind your eyes.

He isn’t far behind, burying himself in you and letting out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl and he buries his face in your neck.

He plants gentle kisses along your jaw and neck as you both come back to reality.

“Wow.”

“Pretty good?” he asks, stroking the hair off your face and smiling at you.

“Um, yes. You could say that.”

“Well, good. I was worried I had lost my touch.”

It’s then that you realize he hasn’t done this in seventy years. You mentally murder every single woman from the 1940s who was lucky enough to experience this, to experience him, but then feel sheepish.

“You haven’t…?”

He shakes his head. “Not in a long time, doll.”

You note the briefest hint of his Brooklyn accent coming out in his speech and it sends shivers to your core.

“But...you could have had anyone you wanted. Women would be lining up.”

He kisses your nose gently.

“I didn’t want just anyone. I wanted you.”

You smile, nuzzling your forehead against his.

“So, Sergeant, you’re telling me that you’ve been pining after me this whole time?”

You mean it as a way to gently tease him, but his eyes become serious as they search your face.

“Yes.”

“And when, pray tell, did you decide you were hopelessly, madly in love with me?”

You’re still teasing, but you’re still hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth.

“It took about one day,” he says, stroking the back of your neck and placing gently kisses on your face.

“I see.”

“If I had to pinpoint the moment, I would say it was when you told me you didn’t need me riding your ass all the time and you’d be happier if I was out of sight and out of mind.”

“I don’t think I quite put it as rudely as all that,” you say, swatting him.

He smirks at you and you lean forward to kiss the smile off his face.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t listen.”

He wraps his arms more firmly around you and it occurs to you that you’ve never felt more safe in your life.

“Tell me again?” he asks, his voice hesitant, and you know exactly what he’s requesting.

You lean forward and murmur against his lips.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

He closes his eyes, clearly basking in your words.

You murmur the phrase against his skin over and over, planting gentle kisses to his chest and shoulders.

Finally, you stroke the side of his face, staring deep into his stunning blue eyes.

“I love you, Bucky,” you say, repeating the phrase in English.

He smiles.

“I love you, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky has already left for his meeting with Fury by the time you wake up the next morning.

You snuggle into the warm sheets, inhaling the lingering scent on Bucky’s pillow. You feel a pleasurable ache between your thighs that reminds you of last night’s activities.

You finally make your way to the kitchen and get started making a pot of coffee.

You barely hear him re-enter the apartment and almost jump out of your skin when he wraps his arms around your waist and gently nuzzles the side of your neck.

“You look good in my shirt,” he murmurs.

“I feel pretty good in it, too,” you say, turning around to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

“I missed you,” he says, kissing your nose.

“I missed you, too. How was the meeting?”

“Oh, you know. The usual post-mission stuff.”

He sits down at the kitchen table and pats the chair next to him.

“We should talk, doll.”

“Okkaaaaay,” you say, suspiciously.

“Nothing like that,” he says, reassuringly, reaching for your hand.

You sit beside him, taking a sip from your coffee cup, steadying yourself for whatever he is going to tell you.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to really talk last night ---“ he starts, and you blush at the memory.

“---and I want to explain to you, as much as I can, what happened.”

“But I thought that it was all classified?”

He shakes his head.

“It is, technically. But Fury gave me the go-ahead to explain, in the most general terms, what happened.”

You nod and squeeze his hand.

“I’m guessing it’s all pretty difficult stuff, Bucky. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. All that matters is that you’re back. That’s all I need to know.”

“I want to talk about it, doll. I don’t want any secrets from you,” he says.

He takes a deep breath and dives into his story.

“When Fury wanted to send me back out into the field, I was as surprised as you. I thought everything was wrapped up. Turns out the…asset…wasn’t as secure as we thought. I went after them and…”

He pauses for a minute, squeezing your hand.

“I was being held prisoner for the most of the time I was gone. I was pretty sure I’d be there forever. Fury finally set up a covert mission to get me out of there, but…”

You squeeze his hand comfortingly.

“It’s okay, Bucky. You don’t need to tell me anymore.”

You sit in silence for a minute before Bucky continues.

“The very first thing I did after I got back was come find you. And you were on that date and that guy was touching you and…”

You lean over and plant a kiss on his lips.

“Nat set up the date. She thought I wasn’t moving forward with my life after…”

“I’ll have to have a little chat with Nat later,” he says, wryly.

“Yes, because that will go well,” you tease.

He looks at you seriously.

“I thought for a minute that…”

“That what?”

“That you had moved on. That you didn’t…”

You cut him off with another kiss.

“The only thing that happened was that I cried into the appetizer and started telling him about how the love of my life had died. I think it was a pretty disappointing experience for him.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and you can tell he’s trying to corral the grin that’s threatening to spread across his face.

“The love of your life, huh?”

“The love of my life,” you repeat, leaning your forehead against his.


	11. Chapter 11

** Two Years Later **

****

Sam grumbles as you straighten his tie.

“Is this really necessary? Why couldn’t you just have had one of those beach weddings where we could have all dressed in Hawaiian shirts and gone barefoot?”

Natasha walks by, stunning in her black gown, and pats him on the shoulder.

“Because then you wouldn’t look half as handsome as you do in that suit.”

Sam mutters under his breath.

“Don’t worry, Sam, it’ll be over before you know it,” Steve yells from across the room, working on his own tie in the mirror.

You finish with Sam’s tie and take a deep breath, looking around the room at your friends.

Tony pokes his head in the door.

“Are we almost ready? Everybody’s getting antsy. And by everybody, I mean Bucky. He seems worried that you’ve crawled out a window or something. I told him I’d come check.”

You suppress a grin.

“Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

You take a long look at yourself in the mirror, taking some calming deep breaths.

“Ready?”

Nat steps up beside you.

“More than ready,” you say, smiling.

“You look gorgeous,” she says, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving you a squeeze.

“You think he’ll like it?” you ask.

“I think he’s going to lose his mind,” Nat reassures you.

“Are we ready, ladies?” Steve asks.

He offers Nat his arm.

“We’ll see you out there,” he says, smiling at you as they walk out the door.

Sam puts a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Because, you know, I can call you an Uber and have you out of here in five minutes.”

You lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

“Not on your life.”

“Well, if you’re sure you want to hitch yourself to that man for all of eternity, who am I to stop you.”

He offers you his arm and you start making the slow walk down the stairs.

You reach the end of the aisle and Sam gently squeezes your arm.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N. Bucky is a lucky man.”

“Thank you, Sam. For everything.”

You start walking. The wedding planner instructed you to go slowly, but all you want to do is run to Bucky and throw yourself into his arms. When he comes into view, the breath is knocked out of your chest. He looks amazing.

Although you’ve never seen him without facial hair of some kind, he insisted on shaving for the wedding. He’s stunning – the lack of beard showing off the handsome planes of his face. He’s wearing a suit and it fits him like a glove. But, more than anything, you notice the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen in his life.

There are so many people you love in the same room, but you only have eyes for him.

You pass Fury and he gives you a nod. The man can be infuriating sometimes, but you’ve come to a grudging respect. He had informed you the day before that there was no need to worry about further attempts on your life. That things had been “taken care of.” He didn’t go into specifics, but you knew from the look on his face that you could rest easy.

Steve whispers something in Bucky’s ear and they both smile.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you reach the end of the aisle, eyes not leaving each other.

Sam gives you a hug and shakes Bucky’s hand.

“You guys take care of each other,” Sam says.

Bucky takes your hand, his thumb rubbing circles on your knuckles.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“More ready than I’ve ever been for anything in my life.”

He smiles.

The oficiant asks everyone to stand and the next ten minutes are a blur.

When it comes time for the vows, you take a deep breath. You’d rehearsed this with Natasha so many times that you could do it in your sleep, but you’re still nervous.

Bucky repeats his vows softly, eyes not leaving yours.

You take a deep breath and open your mouth. Bucky’s eyes widen as you start to speak.

“Ya, Y/N, prinimayu vas, James Buchanan Barnes, kak svoyu zamuzhnyuyu muzha, i ya obeshchayu vam lyubov', chest' i uvazheniye; byt' vernym vam i ne ostavlyat' vas, poka smert' ne razluchit nas.” (Translation: I, Y/N, take you, James Buchanan Barnes, as my wedded husband and I promise you love, honor and respect; to be faithful to you, and not to forsake you until death do us part.)

You had waffled on whether or not to do this, knowing how much pain that language had caused him over the years. But Natasha had convinced you that your original impulse was correct and that this would be a wonderful way to honor the piece of Bucky that was still and would always be the Winter Soldier.

Bucky has tears in his eyes by the time you are done and your face is threatening to crack from how hard you are smiling.

“It is now my very great honor to introduce, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. James Barnes!”

Bucky cups your face in his hands and kisses you. You kiss for what seems like forever, lost in each other. After the oficiant clears their throat meaningfully, you pull apart and start walking down the aisle.

You’re getting congratulations and pats on the back all the way down the aisle, from all the people you love.

Bucky pulls you into a small alcove.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your forehead. “I just wanted to tell you before all the craziness starts.”

“There’s something I have to tell you, too,” you say, smiling shyly.

“Oh?”

You take his hand and gently place it over your belly.

A look of shock slowly passes over his face.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He picks you up and spins you around.

“Are you happy?” you ask.

“I couldn’t be any happier, lyubov moya.”

You entwine your fingers with his.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”


End file.
